


are you happy?

by elytraheart



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Explicit Language, Family Dynamics, Family Issues, Father-Son Relationship, Heroes to Villains, Song Lyrics, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:08:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29963442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elytraheart/pseuds/elytraheart
Summary: Wilbur knew Phil would realise something was off when he stopped replying to the letters. He knew Phil would come visit and try to stop him from enacting his plan. He didn't care.A fic using lyrics from the song Are You Happy by Bo Burnham, based heavily around the events of November 16th on the Dream SMP but giving more insight into Wilbur's thoughts and feelings during it.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	are you happy?

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is heavily based on what's already canon, even directly taking some lines from it in parts. it's more to give wilbur some perspective and backstory, include some moments that could have happened off stream and just collect all the angst into writing form.
> 
> despite that, i think you'll enjoy it anyways! be careful though, there's some mention of suicidal thoughts and parental issues and such, so if you're uncomfortable with that please don't read.
> 
> my twitter is @elytraheart for more updates! hope you like the fic :))

Wilbur stared at his reflection, chest heaving and sweat drops trickling into his eyes so he had to blink hard to get rid of them. What was going on, what was wrong with him? Why did he suddenly have the urge to— to hurt, to cut down, to cause pain, to kill?

 _I just wanted to start something new. A nation. Give people independence, freedom, happiness. But that wasn't true either, really, was it?_ If that were the case he wouldn't have gone out of his way to break every law the SMP had. It was all a game to him, always had been. 

The first and last letter he had ever received from Phil shook violently in his hand, making the same sound every time it struck the wind a certain way. Phil would be here soon. Couple weeks, perhaps. All he had to do to stop it was write back, and yet… he couldn't. Why?

_On a scale from one to zero, are you happy?_

He swallowed and brushed wet hair out of bloodshot eyes. Write back. Just write back. If he wrote back, Phil couldn't stop him from enacting the plan. He could blow up L’manberg, he could kill everyone in it, and then he could return home to his father without worrying about what he was leaving behind.

 _You want him to come back. That's why you won't write back_. As ridiculous as the thought sounded even to his own ears, he couldn't find the strength to debunk it. He couldn't find good reason to debunk it. He was sure it wasn't true, he knew for a fact it wasn't, and yet…

_’Cause you're on your own from here, so are you happy?_

It wasn't fair, he decided. He was barely into his thirties, he wasn't even old enough to be legally elected president in the US, and yet he was expected to be everybody's role model and figurehead and leader, and fight all their battles for them and guide them to victory. He couldn't do it, nobody could. It wasn't his fault.

 _You're only saying that 'cause you cracked and you're embarrassed about it_. Shut up, he thought back, as if the voice in his head was a separate being entirely and not just the manifestation of his own boiling self-hatred, the personification of all the truths he'd been trying to bury.

_I'm open to suggestions, are you happy?_

“I can't do it,” he said aloud, surprised by his own breathlessness at first, and then upon looking closer at the man in the mirror he decided it wasn't so surprising at all. “I can't do… this, anymore. I don't want to. Please, please, get me out. Just get me out of this, somehow. I can't do it anymore, I never could.” 

He shut his eyes. Then opened them again. “Dad, please. Please come back.” And, for a moment, he almost thought he was looking at his father, until tears crossed his vision and he saw only his own broken frame again. Phil wasn't coming back.

_But what the fuck kind of question is “am I happy?”_

“Wilbur?”

Wilbur turned so sharply on his heel you'd think Jesus Christ himself had called his name, only for his gaze to land upon an awkward-looking kid wringing his hands in the doorway. He tried not to let his disappointment show. It wasn't that he didn't like Tommy, or want to see him… it just wasn't Phil.

“Wilbur, what's— what's wrong? We have a festival to get to, remember? Techno's just—”

Wilbur's knuckles turned white around the edges of the sink. “Tommy,” he said slowly, drawing out every syllable as if it were a separate word. “I mean this in the nicest way possible: get out.”

He wouldn't have noticed Tommy's gulp if not for how loud it was in the silent room. He wouldn't have acknowledged it either, being the kind and selfless man he was, if not for Tommy saying it first: “Sorry for…that. I'm just nervous, I guess. I don't— I don't really know what to say. We need you, Wilbur.”

“Nobody needs me.”

_I really wanna try to get happy_

“All of Pogtopia does. You're our leader, Wilbur.”

_And I think that I could get it if I didn't always panic every time I'm unhappy_

“I don't want to be a fucking leader, don't you get it? I'm sick of everybody always expecting me to know everything and guide everyone, to always have tricks up my sleeve or backup plans for every foreseeable and unforeseeable problem. I don't know shit, Tommy, I don't know anything. I don't know why I thought I'd be a good leader in the first place.”

_Like I'm owed some kind of life where I'm always like happy_

Tommy went quiet. After a while, Wilbur started to think maybe he'd just given up and left altogether, and turned on his heel to leave; just then, Tommy spoke again. “Wilbur, you realise you're more than just our leader, right?”

Wilbur stilled.

“You're not needed just as a member of government. Well, uh, I mean, you sort of are. Like you're needed as government too, it's just not the only reason. 'Cause, y'know, you're also needed as a person, a friend, a brother. I need you, Techno needs you, Niki needs you, your dad needs you. Not because we care about the revolution but because we care about you.”

_Which is stupid 'cause I wouldn't even want it if I got it_

He didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything. He just continued staring into the mirror, but this time at Tommy's reflection rather his own; he wanted to watch as Tommy just stood there, not knowing what to say, not knowing what to do with himself, not knowing whether or not to leave.

Maybe Tommy was right, he mused. The thought disappeared almost immediately. When had Tommy ever been right, especially when it came to things like this? He was lying to himself because he didn't want to see how hopeless everything was.

“Tommy,” he said suddenly. “Do you want to know the truth?”

Tommy's head shot up and he tried to appear as though he hasn't just been falling asleep standing. His hair was falling into his eyes and making him tear up, and every time he blew it out of the way it just fell again. “The truth?” he said hesitantly, unsure if he wanted to hear the response.

Wilbur turned to face him for the first time. “I'm going to blow L’manberg to smithereens.”

_Wait, oh God, my dad was right_

______________________________

“I'm going to blow L’manberg to smithereens,” he repeated, trying to contort his features into a look of innocence rather than the evil that had so clearly wormed its way into him. “I'll kill everything, everyone. Nothing and nobody will ever live there again.”

Tommy hadn't believed him when he said it, and even he wasn't sure at the time if he was bluffing or not, but he knew now he wasn't. This was, simply put, what had to happen. And nobody, not even Phil, who was currently on the fastest train to the SMP there was, could stop him.

He stared at the button. _Press it._ But he had to wait for his cue. _Press it._ When he heard fireworks… that's when he would press. _Press it_. He just wanted it all to be over.

“The button's right there,” he muttered, trying to catch each rapid breath before it escaped his chest. “If I'm gonna press it ever, it's now.” He felt an odd kind of delirious glee, like his brain had somehow mistranslated his anxiety and turned it into euphoria.

 _This isn't right_. His knuckles turned white on the edges of his seat as his grip tightened. “The thing that I built this nation for doesn't exist anymore. The thing that I worked towards doesn't exist anymore. It's over.” He tried to put all his rage into his voice, as if he were practising for a play, but all he felt was sad. Sad, and empty, and hating himself for what he was about to do but hating himself more for being too scared to do it.

“What are you doing?”

 _Beat_. “Phil?” And Oh God, oh God, oh God, Phil wasn't supposed to be here, Phil wasn't supposed to get here so fast, he was still meant to have a few hours left, he had wanted to see his dad so long now but not like this, not like this, not when he was at his weakest, not when he was finally trying to free himself from his burdens. The last thing he wanted was someone who loved him.

He tried to calm himself, to think rationally. “Do you know what this button is?” Dumb question, obviously he didn't, Wilbur was the only one who could've told him and they'd stopped corresponding long ago—

“Uh huh. I do.”

What? Who could've told him? Nobody else knew, nobody that Phil knew at least, surely—

Technoblade. They'd been friends for so long now, he was stupid to think they wouldn't have kept in contact when Techno came to L’manberg. And he was the only option, nobody else could've possibly told Phil about the button, he'd made sure of it. But Techno had. His one ally, his only real friend who supported him in spite of his plans to destroy everything… had betrayed him just like everybody else.

Next question. “Have you heard the song on the walls? Y'know, I just— I made this big point— that there was a special place, there was, but it's not there anymore.” 

“It is, Wil, you've just won it back.”

The thing he'd always envied about his dad was how simply Phil viewed things. It didn't matter about social classes or arbitrary numbers or status or history or who has power. L’manberg was still there, and that's what mattered. But the spirit, the people who loved him, the people who followed him, they weren't. So it didn't matter at all, really.

“Phil, I'm always so close to pressing this button,” he choked out, feeling blood rush to his head. At some point he'd started crying, but he didn't notice until he could feel tears spilling hot and fast down his cheeks. How weak he must look right now. “I've been here like seven or eight times.”

There go the fireworks. Originally he'd planned them to be his cue, but now it seemed like the perfect way to convince Phil that he was in the right. The button didn't matter quite so much anymore, he just wanted Phil to be on his side. Please, just be on my side. For once. “They're fighting.”

“And you want to just blow it up.” It wasn't a question.

“I do.” He could hear the childish whiny note to his voice, could sense the condescending edge to Phil's. His father was disappointed in him. 

If he pressed the button, Phil would hate him. Everyone would hate him. “But,” he said aloud, “I don't know if it even still works. I could press it and nothing could happen.” He didn't know if he was trying to convince Phil or himself.

 _Just press it_. “There was a saying, Dad, by a traitor, once part of L’manberg.” _Press it **now**_. “It was never meant to be.” 

He pressed it.

 _Fucking finally_.

He didn't want to look, couldn't force himself to. But he knew he'd succeeded when he heard explosions, fire, screams, and his father saying his name over and over again, horrified by what he'd done. 

Phil swept past him, breaths quickening with his pace, to face the destruction his son had caused. Wilbur could hear his name being called behind him, the voices of the people he'd loved once and now wanted dead, people who had believed in him and whom he'd let down.

“My L’manberg, Phil,” he declared, beaming where only he could see it as he read off the signs around him, the ones that had survived. “My unfinished symphony, forever unfinished. If I can't have this, no one can.”

Phil just stood, and stared, and said nothing. The people of L’manberg stared back, not recognising what they were looking at and not wanting to.

Wilbur scrambled his way into the rubble, kicking smoking cobblestones at his feet and jagged fingernails drawing lines across charred rock. He found himself at his father's feet, chest heaving, face gleaming with both sweat and pure unadulterated joy, wielding a sword. “Kill me.”

For the first time, Phil looked at him. “What?”

He clutched at Phil's cloak, burying his face into it to wash off some of the sweat and tears and then looking back up at his dad. He didn't think he'd ever let someone see him this unabashedly happy before. It felt more freeing than L’manberg ever had. “Phil, kill me. Stab me with a sword. Let me die. Kill me.”

“Wil…” Phil's voice broke. Wilbur didn't think he'd heard it ever do that before. “You're my son, Wil. Please.”

Wilbur hesitated.

_So if you know or ever knew how to be happy_

He couldn't let Phil distract him. Dying had always been the end goal, it was the most freeing part. He'd craved death for so long now that destroying everything he'd loved first was just a bonus. He just wanted to die. And in front of an audience of people who had always hated him and would never mourn or miss him? Even better. It made it hurt all the more. He deserved to hurt after this, after what he'd done.

_On a scale from one to two now, are you happy?_

“Kill me,” he said one final time, and Phil, who just like everybody else who hated him didn't take much convincing, plunged the sword into his chest.

_You're everything you hated, are you happy?_

The world span as he fell, tearing a piece of Phil's cloak with him as he went. This was it. This was what liberty felt like. This was what it felt like to make them hurt, everybody who has made him hurt. They were all still watching, he hoped.

_Hey, look Ma, I made it, are you happy?_

He smiled as he died.


End file.
